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Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 11/9/2019 From boulder to boulder, I was standing on a fragile plank that separates light from darkness, death from life, over the huge explosion of the precipice foamed... Below me, the roar and beating of the wings of a dark night. Through the moist floor of the moss tapestries, the abyss is growling and, like a hound, rattling with the chain... At my feet its foams, its anger, its howling... I trample them, I strike them with lightning bolts... I am just a shade. From boulder to boulder, I've descended under the mad assault of waters, ferociously rushing at me and at the the abyss, stunned by the simultaneous firing of a hundred death's guns. And suddenly I felt like a light bird feather, carried far away from the quiet marina by the breeze, and trembling, I covered my eyes... I was just daydreaming. Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)
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Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 5:22 PM UTC
From Boulder To Boulder
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 11/9/2019 From boulder to boulder, I was standing on a fragile plank that separates light from darkness, death from life, over the huge explosion of the precipice foamed... Below me, the roar and beating of the wings of a dark night. Through the moist floor of the moss tapestries, the abyss is growling and, like a hound, rattling with the chain... At my feet its foams, its anger, its howling... I trample them, I strike them with lightning bolts... I am just a shade. From boulder to boulder, I've descended under the mad assault of waters, ferociously rushing at me and at the the abyss, stunned by the simultaneous firing of a hundred death's guns. And suddenly I felt like a light bird feather, carried far away from the quiet marina by the breeze, and trembling, I covered my eyes... I was just daydreaming. Maria Konopnicka (1842-1910)
Written by
71/M/Niemodlin / Poland
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 5:22 PM UTC
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